Darling One
by violetstars1039
Summary: 12.03 Coda. Mary's thoughts about the boys after leaving the bunker.


Darling One

"Feelin' blue cause there's so much to live up to. I wish that somehow I could give it to you."

Mary didn't want to leave at first but these men standing in front of her are not her babies. In her mind, she knows that they are her Sam and Dean all grown up. Doesn't change the fact that they're strangers. The words tumble out of her mouth quickly. Telling these men that she needs to leave is harder than she thought it would be. The hurt look on Dean's face, the way he suddenly glances down and steps away from her, tears at her heart. In that moment, Mary can't help but see her little boy Dean. All she wants to do is reach across the space between them and pull him into her arms but she doesn't dare. All she can say is 'Sorry.', and that doesn't seem adequate. So, she turns to leave, makes herself go up those stairs and not look up.

She cringes when the door closes behind her. It feels so final but she needs to find her footing and she can't do it here with them watching her every move. Those men in the bunker, her boys, expect so much of her and it all feels like a bad dream to her. Just yesterday she was taking her boys trick or treating. Four-year-old Dean, was dressed up as a fireman as he helped her pull baby Sammy, dressed as a Dalmatian, in his red ryder wagon. Dean was so excited and John was too. John must've taken a roll of pictures of her and the boys. Mary shakes the thoughts from her head and continues walking.

She walks until she finds a car and hot wires it. She drives aimlessly while thoughts of John and their boys run through her head. Somehow she ends up at the cemetery. Now she's staring at a head stone, her head stone. It's so surreal. She kneels and runs her hand over the cool stone. She can't help but blame herself. This is all her fault. She started all of this. Her John became a hunter. The thought shakes her. She can't picture the John she loved in the life but she's read his words and seen their sons. It's all true. The nightmare they've endured is her fault.

Mary sits against the head stone and closes her eyes. She never wanted this life for her kids. All her hopes of a safe, normal life for them was violently taken away. Now, they're strangers to her. Her baby Sammy, she missed everything. When she looks at the man he's become, she sees John. There's parts of her there too but the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, it's all John. He got out of hunting and came back because all the boys had were each other. That's her fault too.

She should've known better. Hunters all end up the same. Something always comes for them in the end. But, she could've at least tried harder to protect them. Maybe if she didn't try to completely bury who she was, maybe if she had warded the house that yellow eyed bastard would've never gotten in. She would've lived and been there to see her boys grow up. John might still be alive and there might've been grandchildren as well.

Seeing Dean all grown up breaks her heart even more than Sam does. He grew up handsome, like she always knew he would. He's all her in looks, personality too. Her sweet little boy is gone, now replaced by a hunter. It kills her to see him in the life she tried so hard to keep him away from. There are still some glimpses of the child he used to be though, like the way he ate that pie.

It was just yesterday to her that she was picking him up from preschool and taking him to Jay Bird's Diner for a piece of pie. Her rambunctious little boy who played tball and charmed everyone he met is long gone. Her death was hardest on him. She knows that for a fact. She read it in her husband's hand writing. Their son withdrew, he didn't speak for over six months, leading John to take Dean to a specialist for help. She wants desperately to pull Dean into her arms and hold him tight but he's a grown man now. Her hug won't erase thirty-three years of pain and heartache.

She had to leave. Mary knows it's selfish but she needs to mourn the loss of her husband and her children. To her, November 2, 1983 was yesterday. Suddenly, it's thirty-three years later. Her sons are older than her now. How can she fit into their lives? How does she be a mother to thirty-seven and a thirty-three years old men? She doesn't know how. Mary needs a little time to reconcile her babies with the men they've become. Once she does, she hopes they'll let her into their lives. She just needs to find her footing and she can't do that as they stare at her expecting her to live up to whatever they built her up to be in their minds. The pressure of that is too much.


End file.
